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ACROSS 


THE 


THRESHOLD 



COPYRIGHT 1914 
H. W. HICKS 


NOV 24 1914 


ACROSS THE 
THRESHOLD 



By 


Anita B. Ferris 


Reprint from Everylnnd, 
September, 1914 


1914 '■‘,^0 

MISSIONARY EDUCATION 
MOVEMENT 
'New York City 



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ACROSS THE 
THRESHOLD 


the first golden light of 
the approaching sun mel- 
lowed the morning sky, 
Os-seo-o stirred from his 
rigid position against the 
trunk of the blasted pine on the lonely 
peak of Thunder Mountain. At his 
feet still slept the half grown bear, 
Mokwa, his pet. 

Naked stood Osseo, save for his 
clout and moccasins. His limbs were 
cold and stiff, for he had held his vigil 
faithfully all through the chill spring 
night. To-day he would cross the 
threshold of manhood. Yesterday, 
midway between his fifteenth and six- 
teenth years, he had been received into 
the Council tent together with his 
former playmate, Wanda. The wise 
jnen of the tribe had talked to them 



of their physical manhood. They had 
told them of the laws of health, whis- 
pered to them the secrets of the braves 
to be kept forever sacred, lectured 
them on tribal law and intertribal 
law, and finally sent each forth alone 
to the bath of purification, and thence’ 
to his all-night vigil, and the solitary 
communion at sunrise of his spirit with 
the Great Mystery. . 

Osseo had not tasted food for thir- 
ty-six hours, and as his eyes strained 
into the darkness through the long 
night, strange visions had flitted before 
them born of the fasting. He was to 
watch for some bird, beast, or reptile 
which visiting his dizzy fancy then 
would forever after come to him in 
time of trial and aid him. This would 
be his personal totem known as his 
only by all the tribe. In the birch bark 
writing, on ornament or quiver, this 
would be his sign. 

The glory of the yet invisible sun 
crept farther up the sky. The shy 
woodland birds began to twitter. 
Mokwa stretched himself and grunt- 
ed, Osseo climbed to the topmost crag 


and waited, his young form straight as 
an arrow, outlined against the bright- 
ening sky; his face to the East. With 
quickening breath he watched the 
brightest spot along the ridge of hills 
beyond. At last a rim of glowing, 
dazzling fire showed above the black 
outline. Higher and higher it climbed 
with every second. His throat swell- 
ing with exultation, Osseo raised his 
right arm straight above his head, the 
hand palm outward. 

'‘Oh, Manito, maker of all things,” 
he chanted, “beautiful art thou, and 
wonderful ; great art thou and all- 
powerful. Who can face thy bright- 
ness and yet see? The thunder is 
thine, and the swift darting light : 
his thus that thou showest forth thy 
power.” 

He paused. The whole mountain 
had waked to invisible life. The squir- 
rels chattered and barked as they 
searched for their morning meal. A 
tiny myrtle warbler poured forth its 
clear notes in the spruce near by. 
Mokwa, sitting upon fat haunches by 
his side, swayed back and forth with 


the motion of his kind. All these 
things Osseo saw and heard, though 
he moved not his eyes from the blue 

above. 

“All are thy children,” he contin- 
ued, “both man and beast. All are 
brothers.” Again he raised his hand. 
“My hands are clean, O Great Spirit; 
my heart is pure. I am a man this 
day. Give me a strong spirit. Help 
me to do some great thing. Give 
swiftness to my feet ;• give power to my 
bow. All that I do shall be thine, O 
thou Great Mystery, covering all the 
earth. This is my offering !” He stood 
for a moment, bathed in the warm 
spring sunlight, and then, turning 
quickly, followed the trail down the 
mountain, with swift, noiseless steps. 
Mokwa, though seemingly slow and 
clumsy, kept pace with him. 

On the edge of the wigwams, the 
children met him and stared at him. 
Many a time had Osseo raced with 
them. Now he did not turn his head. 
He would never sport with children 
again, and none dared speak with him 


till he had a second time passed 
through the bath of purification. 

Again he entered the Council tent 
and took his seat upon the floor. Near 
him Wanda already squatted. He also 
would cross the threshold into man- 
hood that day. In a half circle before 
them sat the braves. In the center 
squatted the strong chief, So-an-ge- 
ta-ha, and on his right smoked feeble 
old Meda, the oldest man in the vil- 
lage. 

Soangetaha addressed them: “You 
have learned the laws of your body 
and of your spirit; we have told you 
the mysteries of your tribe. There is 
but one test more, the test of bravery. 
If captured by an enemy you must not 
turn fainthearted in the torture and 
bring disgrace upon your brothers. 
Pain you must despise. Manhood is 
not gained till you can prove this.” 
With his last words the two youths 
were strung up to poles of the lodge, 
and the friendly torture with knife and 
burning splinter began. 

Meanwhile, they were told of their 
enemies, and how to treat them when 



captured. For the first time, a doubt 
of the wisdom of his elders crept into 
Osseo’s mind. Had these braves never 
stood facing Manito alone on a moun- 
tain peak? Had they never felt at one 
with all life breathing and stirring 
about them — one with all men? At 
the height of the torture Wanda threw 
back his head and laughed, and the old 
men grunted their approval. Osseo 
did not change a muscle. ’Twas child- 
ish to laugh, he thought. Old Shuh- 
gah, applying a burning splinter to a 
small wound, peered into his face. 
Was this youth a coward? To make 
sure he increased the pain ; still no 
sound came from the proud lips of 
Osseo. 

At last they were free, and praised 
for their hardihood. 

Now came the steam bath at the 
mineral spring, with the hot stones 
thrown in to boil the water. There the 
strain relaxed, and they slept. 

Next came the gantlet of the women 
and children, with their sticks. Wanda 
plunged through at once, but Osseo 
paused for a moment to glance at Blue 



Soangetaha 




Flower. Old Shuhgah leaped forward. 
‘'Art afraid of the women and chil- 
dren?” he queried. 

Osseo looked at him disdainfully, and 
then, with the swiftness of an arrow, he 
sped through the laughing, striking 
crowd, their whips beating the empty 
air behind him, and passing Wanda, 
he reached the Council tent first. 

Earth and sky swam round togeth- 
er, when the strong hand of the chief 
Soangetaha guided the two boys into 
the Council tent. Cold water was 
dashed over their warm bodies, oil was 
applied, and food given them, the first 
they had tasted in forty-eight hours. 
Then were they given the apparel of 
men, trousers of buckskin, and a blan- 
ket of buffalo skin, carefully dressed. 
Soangetaha lifted the tent flap, and 
Osseo and Wanda crossed the thresh- 
old, men at last. 

Straight to his mother’s lone wig- 
wam walked Osseo proudly, and 
soundly he slept that- night against 
Mokwa’s shaggy side. 

With the first light of morning, the 
mother wakened Osseo. “Up,” she 


said, “you are a man now. Provide a 
fine buck for the household.” Eager- 
ly Osseo rose, and with bow and quiver 
and Mokwa grunting by his side, hur- 
ried to the mountain. 

Once in the shady depths, he bade 
Mokwa lie down, and keenly scanning 
some fresh deer tracks, set off as 
noiseless as the flickering sunlight 
which danced over the brown leaves of 
last year, still under the trees. Once 
he stopped, and held up his hand, feel- 
ing the air fresh on the palm. On he 
went, his eyes on the tracks, till, sud- 
denly he began to move slowly, to 
glide with the swiftness of a cat from 
one tree to another. In front of him 
was a thicket, and bending and twist- 
ing his way in, he saw before him what 
he had expected, a tall, fine buck, two 
does beside him, and a young fawn 
standing close to its mother. They 
were facing his way, with the wind, to 
guard against the danger they could 
not scent. With a proud motion of the 
head, the great buck faced him, his 
lustrous eyes wide and frank as a 
child’s. By his side the doe, all un- 



conscious of her danger, dropped her 
head low over her spotted fawn. Os- 
seo’s arrow pointed straight at the 
breast of the buck, where, beneath the 
velvet coat, the strong heart beat in 
fulness of life. The lustrous eyes 
gazed straight into the darkness of the 
thicket where Osseo’s eyes gazed back. 
Slowly the boy relaxed his bow. ‘'He 
is my brother, the beautiful one.. He 
too, has reached his manhood,” he 
whispered, and slipping backward as 
noiselessly as he had come, he retraced 
his steps to Mokwa. 

Snapping his fingers at his pet, they 
started for a small mountain lake, Os- 
seo’s favorite fishing ground. From 
a hollow tree the lad drew out a slen- 
der spear and a scap-net cunningly 
woven of tough strips of bark lining. 
With quick, true aim, he speared or 
scapped the trout in the shallow lake, 
Mokwa watching with the greatest in- 
terest. At last there were enough, and 
merrily Osseo laughed as Mokwa 
standing on his hind legs, dexterously 
caught in his mouth the fish tossed to 
him, almost losing his balance when 


the boy purposely threw wide of the 
mark. With a few dry sticks Osseo 
kindled a fire and broiled over it his 
own meal from the lake. 

The savory dinner over, Mokwa 
rolled himself into a ball, and slept. 
Osseo seated under a great beech, 
leaned his back against its trunk, his 
bow across his knees, one hand upon 
his quiver. 

Gradually he became conscious of a 
presence. He and Mokwa were not 
alone in the forest. Slowly and cas- 
ually he lifted his bow and loosened 
an arrow in the quiver. Then as 
slowly he turned his head, his eyes 
going straight as if drawn by a mag- 
net to a great limb half way up the op- 
posite beech. There, flattened along 
the branch, his round head hanging 
low between his shoulders, his glow- 
ing eyes burning down upon Osseo, 
lay a great panther. The lad gazed 
back unflinchingly, exerting all the 
power of his will, while slowly, with 
the skill and deception of a conjurer, 
he was fitting his arrow to his bow. 
The great breast lay protected by the 



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limb, the vital spot behind the shoul- 
der he could not reach. The po'werful 
hind quarters moved ever so slightly 
for a stronger hold upon the limb be- 
fore the spring. Osseo raised his bow, 
and with lightning aim, sent the arrow 
speeding with all his strength into one 
of the glowing eyes. Instantly the 
great muscles relaxed, and with a dull 
thud, the powerful animal hit the 
ground, his strong limbs beating the 
air in the death agony. 

'‘Osseo is stronger than his brother, 
the great cat,” the boy murmured. 'Tn 
the contest he has won. He will take 
his brother’s coat,” and quickly and 
dexterously he began skinning the 
great animal. 

Stringing the fish he had left on a 
slender crotched stick, and with the 
fresh pelt rolled into a ball and tucked 
under one arm, Osseo started for home. 

At the edge of the village the chil- 
dren met him, — "Ho, brave Osseo,” 
they cried, "where is thy roebuck? 
Wanda hath a fat doe.” He strode on 
without replying to his tent, where his 
mother awaited him. "Where is thy 



o 


buck?” she cried. “How can I make a 
feast for thy manhood? — A string of 
fish, forsooth !” and she snatched them 
out of his hand in her anger and tram- 
pled them into the earth. “The moth- 
er of Wanda makes a great feast to- 
night. All the old men and the braves 
will praise the youths’ skill, and you, 
lazy son, bring me some fish !” She 
followed Osseo into the tent, scolding 
afresh. Mokwa grunted as he pawed 
the fish out of the dust and dipping 
them into the water bucket, daintily 
ate them. 

Osseo threw^ his panther skin sullen- 
ly upon the floor. His mother stopped 
short. — “What is this, my son ? — the 
skin of the mountain cat?” she asked 
with awe, and spreading it out before 
her, gazed keenly at it. “Thy arrow 
pierced it through the eye,” she con- 
tinued w^onderingly — “a marvel !” and 
scolded no more that night. 

The next morning, while his mother 
and younger brother still slept, Osseo 
and his bear took the trail for the 
mountain. The spring was waking and 
pressing on every side. Osseo drank 


in the fresh young odors, and at the 
edge of the village, raced with Mokwa 
up the steep trail. Above his head the 
gray squirrels leaped from limb to limb 
on their way to their feeding-ground. 
The robins and thrushes first called a 
sleepy note, then waked to full chorus. 
On the edge of the cliff the first colum- 
bine glowed. Far below he heard 
shouts. Creeping out on the rock, he 
looked down on the village. 

The men were bringing in the 
horses. Two of the braves were run- 
ning in excitement to the Council tent. 
Osseo began counting — fourteen, fif- 
teen, sixteen — one of the horses was 
missing. Ah, now he understood the 
excitement. Some thieving Crow had 
helped himself. The war drum began 
to beat. Now the braves, all those who 
had crossed the threshold of manhood, 
were entering the Council tent. They 
were going to punish their neighbors. 
The drum still sounded, and Osseo’s 
heart beat faster. He was about to 
leap down the path, when suddenly he 
paused. He could see it all. When 
he was ten years old his father had 



taken him on such a war expedition to 
keep the horses in the covert while the 
braves went to the battle. He had 
neard the cries and wild yells of the 
contest. A woman and small child had 
sped past him, trying to escape, but 
were caught and killed before his eyes. 
The men had returned in triumph, 
wearing many scalps, but they had 
borne among them also the still form 
of his father. 

Down below him the war-whoop 
sounded. Out of the Council tent filed 
the men, their faces blackened with 
the war-paint, their tomahawks lifted. 
Round and round the war post they 
circled, striking it with their hatchets, 
then filed silently out into the forest. 

Osseo drew a long breath. He would 
stay with the spring, with his brothers 
of the forest that day. 

In the spring dusk, Osseo met Blue 
Flower on her way to the hollow for 
water. ‘T’ve looked for you all day,” 
she said timidly. ‘T thought you 
hadn’t heard the war drum and I 
wanted to tell you.” 


He looked at her as the wind blew 
the dark hair about her face. Perhaps 
she, too, had crossed a threshold. ‘‘I 
heard the drum,” he answered simply. 
In the warm dusk Osseo strode home- 
ward through the dry, rustling grass 
of last winter. 

In the village all was commotion. 
The warriors had returned with horses 
and scalps, and there was a din of re- 
joicing. His teepee was the first on 
the trail from the mountain, and he 
met no one. In the tent his mother 
sat alone with her head in her hands. 
She spoke no word as he entered. This 
matter indeed was too grave for scold- 
ing. Osseo began to realize what he 
had done in disobeying the summons 
of the war drum. His youth would 
not be taken as excuse — he who had 
so bravely crossed the threshold of 
manhood but two short suns ago. He 
sat down on his couch of skins, one 
hand playing with Mokwa’s shaggy 
hair and waited for the summons that 
was sure to come. 

At last there was a slight sound, and 
Wanda lifted the tent flap and looked 


disdainfully within — Wanda with the 
war paint still black upon his face, and 
a fresh, bloody scalp fastened conspic- 
uously at his belt. The mother looked 
hopelessly at him. 

“The chief, Soangetaha, bids Osseo 
come to the Council tent,” said Wanda 
shortly. 

Osseo followed him in silence. Out- 
side Wanda continued, “My friend’s 
ears hear not the war drum. He sleeps 
in the early morning like the children.” 

Osseo did not deign to answer. 

“The thieving Crow need not fear 
his arrows,” he sneered. Then as they 
neared the great blazing fire in front 
of the Council tent, he snatched the 
scalp from his belt and dangling it be- 
fore Osseo’s eyes in the bright light 
before all the women and children, he 
cried tauntingly, “Wanda has already 
beaten an enemy, and won a scalp in 
the first battle ! Does the baby Osseo 
dare to look upon its blood?” 

With a sudden movement Osseo 
seized his arm, but Wanda was imme- 
diately on guard. Together they strug- 
gled, their bodies gleaming in the fire- 










light. Wanda was the heavier, but 
Osseo the quicker. At last, with a 
swift movement of his foot and a jerk 
of his arm, Osseo threw his tormenter 
heavily, and kneeling upon his breast, 
snatched the scalp, and held it high 
for a moment, in the sight of all. 

Wanda has conquered the Crow,” he 
said, “but Osseo has conquered Wan- 
da,” and whirling the scalp into the 
darkness, he passed into the Council 
tent. 

Wanda rose slowly, his face con- 
vulsed with rage. It was an insult he 
could never forgive. 

The braves, still unwashed from the 
battle, sat in grave silence. Soange- 
taha drew Osseo in front of them all. 

“Osseo,” he said, “you have crossed 
the threshold into manhood, now two 
suns ago, you the son of a great war- 
rior, Soangetaha’s noble friend. You 
have learned the duty of a tribesman. 
Did you hear the drum at sunrise?” 

Osseo’s dry lips parted. “I heard,” 
he answered. The warriors waited, 
but he said no more. 

“And you understoo4 


“I understood,” replied Osseo. 

There was silence in the tent. And 
then the strong chief spoke out stern- 
ly : “There is but one thing men must 
think — that Osseo feared the Crow — 
that Osseo is a coward.” Osseo 
straightened at the word. “You know 
the doom of such — exile forever from 
all tribes, a wanderer in the wilder- 
ness, a companion of the beasts. No 
man would even take the scalp of 
such.” His deep voice sank in scorn. 

“But you are young, Osseo. This 
Council hath decided that still another 
sun be given you in which to prove the 
charge a lie. Go!” and he pointed 
sternly toward the door. 

Osseo faced the circle proudly. His 
chin high, his arms straight by his 
sides. His eyes glanced boldly, freely 
from the face of one man to another, as 
if to challenge their belief. Then, 
bowing his head, he passed under the 
lifted flap, meeting in doing so, the 
angry eyes of Wanda, who had slipped 
within the tent, the scalp once more 
at his belt. 



Outside the circle of the firelight, 
Osseo clenched his hands and teeth. A 
coward, a coward, never! The whole 
thing seemed outrageous ; quite impos- 
sible ; a horrible dream. The wind had 
risen, and blew strongly from the 
mountain, lifting back his hair, and 
cooling his hot face. High, high above, 
the moon rode calm and white. 

On her bed lay his old mother, her 
face to the tent skins. Osseous little 
brother slept by her side. Osseo threw 
himself upon his couch, and buried his 
face in Mokwa’s thick hair. No one 
understood, his mother least of all. 
How foolish he had been upon the 
mountain peak long ago. Could He 
who made the blazing sun, see him a 
boy upon the threshold of manhood, 
standing on the earth? How high had 
reached his tiny voice, piping the 
praises of Manito? No, it was lost, 
lost in the great circle of the sky. Up 
there dwelt the Great Mystery, high, 
high above, with the blazing sun ; high, 
high up with the calm, white riding 
moon, and Osseo was only a boy, after 
all, very lonely down upon the earth. 


He had borne the torture of the earth. 
He had borne the torture of the thresh- 
old; alone he had faced the terrible 
panther without the quiver of a mus- 
cle. Now the great dry sobs shook his 
body, and he buried his face deep in 
Mokwa’s shaggy coat to make no 
sound. Mokwa slept on. He was only 
a brother of the forest. Gradually the 
spasm passed, and worn out, Osseo 
slept. The wind soughed through the 
great trees, whirled under the loose 
tent, and stirred the skins upon his 


bed. 


Suddenly, Osseo woke. Mokwa was 
moving underneath his arms. The bear 
lifted his head, sniffing the air of the 
tent. Osseo sat up. The wind was 
tearing through the tree tops, and puff- 
ing under the tent flap came a strong 
odor of smoke. Instantly Osseo was 
on his feet. Listening, in a lull of the 
wind, he distinctly hezTrd the dry grass 
crackling. He knew what that meant 
— a forest fire from the mountain 
sweeping full upon them with the 
wind ! 


''Mother,’’ he called, "the fire ! 



» 



Meda 





I 








Quick!” Tearing open the tent flap 
he looked out. The fire was racing 
toward them swiftly as a man could 
run. Last year’s grass was as dry as 
tinder, and the blaze carried on in 
great streamers, leaped ten feet some- 
times, whirled from one clump of 
brush or grass to another. Even as he 
looked, it reached the tent. Then he 
turned and ran through the village at 
his greatest speed. “Fire,” he shout- 
ed, “Fire,” at the top of his voice, the 
wind fairly snatching the words from 
his mouth and bearing them on before 
him. 

Instantly all was commotion. The 
man ran for the horses. Dogs barked. 
The women gathered up their babies 
and any household treasure they could 
snatch first, and ran for the little 
mountain stream which paralleled their 
street. There was barely time to reach 
it and plunge in up to their knees be- 
fore the dry skins of their teepees were 
licked by the flames. 

The horses, wild with fright, re- 
quired all the strength and skill of the 
men to control them within the nar- 


row limits of the stream. The children 
wailed and added their part to the din. 

Suddenly, a woman cried, “Meda, 
old Meda is not here !” The men drag- 
ging down the horses’ heads, looked up 
in consternation. Old Meda’s teepee 
was farthest off, on the edge of the 
prairie. There he dwelt alone. The 
fire was racing toward it, and he so fee- 
ble he could barely walk. 

Osseo heard the cry, and springing 
on the bank, leaped through the burn- 
ing grass, till he was racing side by 
side with the flying sparks. He passed 
them and darted over the unburned 
ground to the old man’s tent. '‘Meda,” 
he panted, “Father Meda, the fire!” 
The old man tottered to his feet. His 
blood was cold, so he was fully dressed 
in buckskin, smooth with wear. Osseo, 
naked save for his clout and moccasins, 
which had been half burned from his 
feet, caught up a well dressed blanket. 
“Come,” he urged. 

Outside the tent, he placed his arm 
about the old man’s waist and tried to 
lift him, but with all his strength he 
could not. “Hurry,” he panted again. 



“hurry !” The fire was now upon 
them, the tall grass crackling about 
Osseo’s naked knees. The wind broke 
blazing branches from the bushes and 
dashed them against the boy’s bare 
shoulders and into the old man’s face. 
Osseo threw the blanket over Meda’s 
head, and using all his strength, tried 
to hurry him on. His hair caught fire, 
and he pressed it out with his free 
hand. His shoulders and arms- were 
blistered, his legs were in torment. On 
and on he waded through the burning 
grass, until it seemed impossible to en- 
dure the agony longer. His mind be- 
came confused. A burning twig sail- 
ing above him in the wind, seemed to 
him a strange bird of the sea, come to 
help him, and bear him on above the 
earth. He began to call aloud to it for 
aid, when suddenly through the smoke, 
broke the giant form of Soangetaha. 
Quickly he seized the old man in his 
arms and rushed for the stream. “Run,” 
he called to Osseo. Osseo, fearing to 
lose them in the smoke, staggered af- 
ter his chief. 

The people were all gathered now in 





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Blue Flower 



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the stream opposite the old man’s tent. 
Weakly Osseo stumbled down among 
them in the water, his face twitching. 
As his naked back sank forward, from 
the low bank rose Wanda, his short 
knife gleaming in the firelight. All the 
people saw the motion, and Osseo saw, 
but could not save himself. As the 
knife shone high, suddenly from the 
shadow in the water rose a clumsy 
form, and a great paw felled Wanda 
with a stroke, the knife flying far out 
into the water. A shout rose from the 
people. 

With the first streak of the dawn, 
the wind sank. As the light grew 
stronger, the braves gathered upon the 
warm, blackened earth. The fire had 
passed as quickly as it came. The wig- 
wams were charred and blackened, and 
some of them still smouldered. The 
women stood in a disconsolate, drip- 
ping circle, and the children rubbing 
their eyes, looked up miserably. 

On the bank lay Osseo. An old 
woman tenderly bathed his limbs with 
oil of skunk’s fat, which some one had 
found unharmed in a ruined teepee, 


while his mother cut long thin strips 
from her doeskin skirt, to wrap about 
them. His lips were bleeding where 
his teeth had sunken to keep all moan- 
ing back. His head turned restlessly 
from side to side. Soangetaha, the 
chief, bent gently over him, and plac- 
ing his strong arms underneath his 
body, lifted him up before the circle 
of the warriors. 

‘'Speak, O brave men of the Suan- 
ni. Is Osseo a coward?’’ At the last 
word Osseo’s body stiffened, and with 
a sudden movement he slipped from 
Soangetaha’s arms and faced the men 
upon his own two feet. No longer did 
he clench his teeth upon his lips. He 
lifted his chin high, as in the Council 
tent; his arms were straight by his 
sides. Proudly he glanced from one to 
another. 

“Answer, O braves of the Suanni,” 
rang the chief’s deep voice. 

“No!” came the shout, and they 
stamped upon the earth. 

A smile of happy triumph curved 
Osseo’s lips, and then, as suddenly as 
the great panther had felt the sting of 


his arrow, the pain swept over him 
again. His head sank forward, his 
body crumpled up, and he fell back- 
ward so swiftly that Soangetaha could 
not save him, and it was the arm of 
Blue Flower which kept that proud 
head from touching the earth. 






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